


Sunshine and Gunpowder

by sailorSenefi



Category: Homestuck
Genre: But It Will All Work Out Okay, Dirk Showing Some Slight Tendencies To Be Just A Little Off Kilter, Happy Endings For All, I promise, Kink Meme, M/M, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-12
Updated: 2012-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-31 01:16:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/338302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorSenefi/pseuds/sailorSenefi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moved from the Kink Meme: http://homesmut.livejournal.com/15023.html?thread=29263023#t29263023</p>
<p>Dirk loves Jake.  Everything about Jake.  And Jake may be oblivious for now, but eventually he'll see that they were meant to be together.  Dirk's going to make sure of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Damnation and God's Teeth! Again? That's the third one this week! Blast those bull-fairies, it's been weeks since I accidentally shot their comrade, they should have forgiven me by now, and stopped with these damned attacks!”

Dirk Strider watched, bemused, as Jake went on about the supposed attack. Jake thought that everything was an attack, which, ordinarily, would upset Dirk, except that it worked in his favor, mostly. The Game that they were about to embark on was not for the unprepared, and pushing Jake to be constantly paranoid and on guard could be nothing but helpful in keeping him alive.

The downside, of course, was that Jake did not take kindly to any form of affection, and mistakenly viewed it as an attempt to attack him. Still. Dirk would rather have an affectionately inept Jake then a Dead Jake. Dead Jakes were the enemy, and he wouldn't stand for them.

“It doesn't even make sense!”

Dirk's eyes widened slightly as he was given the perfect view of Jake getting down on his hands and knees, looking under his bed, legs spread, perfect, squeezable, round and, dare he say, _plush_ posterior, his shorts pulling tight and taunt against the twin globes. It was an amazing view, and his hands were trembling slightly as he pressed the correct serious of buttons to take a picture of the screen, forever capturing the image, and sending it straight into his secret folder of Jake pictures.

“What in the blue blazes would a bally flying bull do with a tee shirt, anyway?”

And that was a question that would probably forever go unsolved. Dirk didn't know what one of the native fauna would do with one of Jake's... misplaced shirts.

But he was very much aware of what he did with them.

He pulled the collar of the shirt he'd _borrowed_ from Jake up, inhaling the still strong scent of musk, sunshine, and gunpowder- the scent of Jake- and wrapped his arms around himself. If he closed his eyes, and let go of everything else, and just concentrated on the smell and the feel, it was almost, _almost_ like Jake was right there, hugging him. 

_'Soon,'_ he told himself, taking deep, slow breaths. _'Just wait a little longer. Soon.'_


	2. Chapter 2

It was a long, hard process, more so then Dirk ever thought it would be, getting together the funds to get the equipment to build a small, single passenger, high speed jet. Oh, he had the money- his Bro had made sure to make sure there was enough money that Dirk and every single progeny that his possible future progeny could create would never want for anything- but it was closely monitored, and the last thing he wanted was to alert the bitch who killed his dearly departed guardian that he was planning anything. Especially anything involving Jake. It was one thing for her to decide to attack him, or even Jane and Lalonde, as horrible as that sounded even to his own ears, but he couldn't stand the idea of her going after Jake. Jake, who'd be a sitting fucking duck on his little island. If something happened to Jane, or Lalonde... Well, he'd mourn. He'd mourn for a long time, no doubt about that. He didn't have a lot of friends, and by not a lot, he meant they were the only ones he had, but he would be able to live. The same could not be said if he ever lost Jake.

Still, despite the risks, Dirk couldn't help himself. Watching Jake day in and day out from the cameras he had Brobot instal, in between planning and scheming and fucking around on Derse, it was torture, plain and simple. He thought it might have been better, borrowing some of his shirts. First putting one on his pillow to snuggle up to at night. Then wearing them, so he could have Jake's scent on him all day. And that had helped, at first, given him something to dream about, something to hold close. But, damnit, a tee shirt wasn't enough. He wanted Jake. Jake had promised....

He paused in his work, lowering what was going to be one of the wings, letting himself reminisce, if only for a moment.

It had been days after his brother, the illustrious, infamous Dave Motherfucking Strider had died, and Dirk had all but given up on life. Dave hadn't been the best of guardians- he was overbearing with a sense of self-importance, had a bad habit of being nothing but condescending, and prone to doing stupid shit just because he could and because for some strange, unknown reason, Lady Luck seemed to like him and always let him have his way-, didn't always pay Dirk the most attention, but he was always, _always_ there. The single stable piece in Dirk's life. His role model. His hero.

And, just like that, he was gone.

It was like Dirk was nothing, didn't deserve to be anything, nothing but a pale shadow. His new 'caretaker' brought in psychologists, fearing that this was something more than just a mourning period, taking that the lack of eating, sleeping, and all around semi-catatonic state. The quacks agreed. Called it something like separation anxiety. Likely was, but that wasn't the point. The point was, Dirk would have happily allowed himself to just waste away to nothing.

Except that Jake called, actually picked up the telephone to leave a message on his answering machine- still with Dave's stupid fucking bullshit 'ironic', completely silent three full minutes before the beep.

“Strider? ...Dirk. I know you're there. If you're not in the mood to answer, well, no one, least of all I, could blame you. Even so, I want you make sure that you are aware of the fact that you're not alone. We're all here for you, and whilst things seem un-fucking-believably bleak at the moment, things will get better. Trust me. I always have your back. We'll make it through this, mate. I guarantee it.” 

_Trust me_

_I always have your back_

_We'll make it through this_

_Mate_

And with those words, suddenly Dirk had a reason to live again. Oh, he knew that probably wasn't how Jake meant it, so painfully aware. But then, Jake wasn't really aware of much that involved the real life, and wasn't shot in a movie. And if Dirk was just given the opportunity, he could show Jake, show him how good he'd be to him, how they were meant to be together.

And even if Dirk had to set up the opportunity himself, even if he had to put the entire fucking world on stake for it, Dirk was going to have his chance. And it was all going to be okay.

Because, more then anything else, in a world full of falsities and lies, Dirk trusted Jake.


	3. Chapter 3

There was just something terribly endearing about Jake English, there really was. When Dirk had landed down, on the beach on the outskirts of the jungle that was Jake's home, he had barely stepped out of the cockpit, grabbing the small bag that he had stuffed the few items that were essential for him, when Jake carefully made his way out to the clearing. There was something sweet about the way he tried to look like he was still being his adventurous, courageous, carefree normal self when he was obviously a bit dubious and uncertain about this whole meeting up with another person in the flesh thing. Something adorable about how it was obvious, even with the distance between them, that Jake was so much smaller, more petite then he was, something he and his scrappy personality would never want to admit, but was obvious to the both of them. There was even something enchanting about the way he held his pistols all wrong, held more in a way that looked aesthetically pleasing rather then practical. Like someone who learned how to shoot based off of nothing but movies. Which was exactly how Jake had done it.

“...Strider?” The question was slow, hesitant, like maybe someone else who just so happened to resemble his dear friend had gone through all the trouble to come and visit him via a self made aircraft, risking storms, Drones, and various unhappy and ferocious beasts. It caused a strange reaction inside of Dirk. Something warm, squirming, leaving his fingers twitching to reach out and to hold, and there was the strangest feeling of his facial muscles twitching, contracting just a bit in the unfamiliar motions of the start of a smile.

“English,” he answered, nodding his head just a fraction, standing still, waiting. Because he was there, no longer separated, had Jake practically at the tips of his fingers, and he could afford to be patient, could afford to give the island boy a chance to get used to him, his presence in his life. Because now that Dirk was there, he wouldn't ever be leaving. 

And he'd find a way to make sure that Jake never wanted it any other way.


	4. Chapter 4

Jake took an agonizing amount of time to get really close to Dirk, so skittish and easily frightened. Three days. Three days it took for him to work up the courage to give Dirk a friendly pat on the shoulder.

However, once Jake started touching, he didn't stop. And Dirk was more then alright with that.

It was an onslaught of entirely new feelings for Jake, this warm feel of human skin underneath thin cotton. It felt like a connection. It felt like home. And he could hardly get enough of it.

He tried to start off slow, pats on the back, the shoulder, grabbing Dirk's bare arm to take him some place or the other. When they sat together on on Jake's bed, to watch a movie, Jake made sure to sit close enough that their legs were touching at the least. Most of the time, he just leaned up against the blonde's side.

Strider, of course, did nothing but encourage him, staying as close to him as possible. He even smiled the first time he held his arm up, inviting Jake over to his side, which had turned into a hug, which then transformed into a cuddle.

He would swear that, up close, in person, Jake's natural scent had a hint of innocence. The only thing that he wasn't sure about, was whether he wanted to protect it, keep it safe and sound, or whether he wanted to erase it completely, ravish it off of him forever, until anyone else who even had the opportunity to so much as _look_ at Jake would be able to look, see, smell, _feel_ that he belonged to Dirk Strider, and no one else.

Life is filled with tough choices sometimes.


End file.
